


Schoolyard Games

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2019 [12]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't Move, Gen, Imprisonment, Mental games, Prompt Fic, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-14 03:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: As a kid, Grif used to own a really shitty and beaten up old game of Life. They were missing pegs and cars, and most of the cars, but in hindsight, he figures that it was actually a proper representation of how the universe deals out some shitty card hands and circumstances to people.Life's also a lot like Risk too.





	Schoolyard Games

**Author's Note:**

> I might actually be collapsing in on myself, I ache every day, is that bad? I think that's bad. I love doing these but I just can't wait for this month to be over.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.

Grif was totally prepared to regroup with everyone else when he was dragged out of the vents that he had purposefully gotten stuck in.

He wasn't expecting to be dragged to a room whereupon entrance, the first thing he heard was, "How do you feel about playing a little game?"

Temple isn't facing him, back turned towards Grif as he stared at the surveillance monitors.

Grif blinks in surprise because he came onto this mission knowing that this guy was a few screws short, but he was expecting to just get locked up with the others.

"Not really a fan of games," he plays along for the moment. "I mean, you know what they say about Monopoly. Supposedly ruins friendships-"

Temple slams his fist against the dashboard, silencing off the final part of Grif's response,  _ 'but we aren't friends, so why not.' _

"I want to play a game," Temple whirled around to look at him. "The name of this game is  _ Don't Move." _

"Ok, so, I'm not going to say that I'm concerned for you, but me personally," he shifted a step back, not trusting the other man to not act violently. "I'm just wondering about when you're going to put me in jail."

"About that, we're not doing that anymore," Temple turns back towards the monitors, fiddling with the controls and bringing up past footage. "That whole 'you're too stupid to be an issue, let's just fucking lock you into a cell'- no. Not anymore."

He looks back briefly, and Grif internally begs him to turn his gaze away because he can't even see the bastard's face and yet he feels a chill go down his spine.

And he does, but he stands back from the monitor watching as the tapes played back to only an hour earlier.

And Grif gets to watch in shitty quality as Locus attempts to rescue Wash and Carolina, only to freeze in the process, Temple stalking towards him from behind.

"You know, I actually thought I had everything figured out," Temple grips tightly against the edge of the dashboard. "I was gonna use my drill to destroy the UNSC, only to find out that that fucking idiot  _ Loco _ built a fucking time machine instead."

He pushes himself away from the console and paced away from it.

"I didn't fucking ask for a time machine if I wanted one I would have  _ ASKED," _ he kicked the wall angrily. "And then I found two  _ rats _ infiltrating my base, and it's a good thing you just wandered around on loop for hours, gave me enough time to move the prisoners and catch that fucking mercenary."

Temple took a moment to calm himself, before turning back towards Grif for the final time, to continue the conversation that this whole tangent spawned from, "So the rules to the game Don't Move is simple."

Not looking behind him, he switched the monitors to show the present, displaying the frozen bodies of all his friends.

"You will not move, until I say so," Temple stated. "And before you ask, 'why would I do that' I'll tell you why. Do you see this-" he pointed at the screens. "-these are your friends, stuck in place. If you manage to not move, not even an inch,  _ they _ can move."

"And how do you expect me to do that," he swallowed nervously, as he keeps his eyes on the screen. He can't refuse this, now can he? He was hoping that Locus would be able to get everyone out of here- not him. This wasn't a Grif thing he can do.

"Well, we still have all these neat empty jail cells, you'll be staying in one of those," Temple seemed satisfied with his compliance so far. "And it won't be all that bad. Involuntary movements are allowed- blinking, breathing- but moving because you  _ want _ to move. No."

"Anything else?" if he was going to do this he wanted to know the specifics, every detail. 

"If you can make it a week of this," the Blue started. "I will set them free, one at a time. One per week. You can choose who each time, barring the Freelancers and the mercenary. They will be last, but the others I don't care."

Taking a step towards Grif, he asked, "So, are you going to play?"

And Grif looked him in the eyes and said, "Yes."

* * *

Not being able to move, even if you really want to, is very difficult. But it gets numb after a while, which can be seen as a bonus if Grif squinted really hard.

When awake, he had to stay in one place, but during the night he could sleep and he wouldn't be penalized for moving. If he fell asleep during the day, then that would count as moving and then he'd lose.

So he had to stay awake the whole time. That was the hard part of it all.

There were only three breaks per day, designated for eating. As far as he's aware, when he gets to move during those hours, the others are armor locked again.

As much as it pains him to do, he tries to make these hours as brief and quick as possible.

And when it's time to freeze up again, he really has to think about how he wants to position himself for the next few hours. Certain placement of the legs ends up cramping the muscles, and if his head isn't relaxed or comfortable he won't be able to move it even when permitted by the way it stiffened up.

The whole thing has really made him hate relaxing more than Iris did.

At the moment, Grif's preparing to reach his last break of the day. He's not so much interested in eating as he is in getting a chance to stretch his legs. Even if his limbs feel numb and don't regain feeling within that period.

Instead of the usual random SIM who brings in the meals, it's Temple.

Grif can't tell by the way he walks in if he's angry at the fact that it's been exactly a week, or if he's indifferent to it.

"Simon says, you can move now," the bastard joked, and Grif glared at him even if he couldn't see it behind the visor. "Although, maybe this game is more like Red Light Green Light Go. Except you're always stuck on a red light unless I say so. So maybe a bit of both instead."

Grif doesn't answer him, he just gets up and stumbles as he does so, bracing his arm against the way until he's sure that he's got a fine grasp on his balance again.

"Since it's a very important night, I felt it fitting that I should bring you your food," Temple stated, placing the tray in the slot that the food came through. "We can sit and chat. Maybe make a thing out of it if you're entertaining enough."

He still doesn't say anything, instead opting to stretch his legs and arms, trying to get some sensation back in them.

"Who are you going to choose to release," and despite all his talk, Temple cuts right to the chase.

"Simmons," Grif doesn't even need to hesitate, he's had a very long to figure out just  _ who _ he'd choose first.

And maybe it would have made more sense to go for Tucker, as the more experienced fighter.

But Grif made the mistake of not choosing to stay with Simmons the last time they were all together, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Typical," Temple scoffed. "I don't know why I even bothered asking. I'll tell my guards to bring him down to the brig, and jail him."

Narrowing his eyes, Grif took a careful and wobbly step closer to the front bars of the cell as he barked, "You said you were going to set them free if I played your stupid game!"

"And they will be- set free from their armor locking of course," Temple said. "I never said that I would let them  _ leave. _ What? Want to go back on your word? Want to let them rot?"

Grif opts to say nothing.

"Thought as much," the other man sounded smug. 

"Why can't you lock him up here?" Grif asked, the part of himself that still hasn't healed from Iris craving a more stable human interaction than the SIM's in charge of bringing him food.

"What would be the fun in that?" Temple asked. "You need to move your mouth to talk after all. And that would be against the rules."

As much as he hated to admit it, the bastard had a point.

"I can tell that you're tired from this week, so I'll leave you alone for now," Temple said, moving to leave the jail block. "When I send someone in to collect the tray, that'll be your ten-second warning, so you better be in place before then."

As soon as Temple left the room completely, Grif made his way over to the tray and lowered it with shaking hands to the ground.

Then, legs straining under himself, he lowered himself to the ground right after it, so that it'd be easier to eat.

There weren't that many of the gang left. As far as he knew, Sarge and Doc were still on the Blues and Reds side, so he wouldn't have to include them in the list of people locked up.

Which meant that he had about, six weeks of not moving left for him.

Grif hopes he can make it out that long before he crumples- metaphorically and  _ physically. _

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun with this idea since it was very much a sentence ("Don't Move") that had to be included rather than a normal trope haha. I liked playing around with the different days it could have been written that was fun.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


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